Page 63 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
“So you will need your rest tonight to be able to give him your full attention tomorrow, when he’ll need it more.” She pauses and smiles, “If it were me, I’d stay home and get a good night’s sleep, knowing that his son and daughters are keeping watch.”
I want to clap my hands and saybravaat my love’s masterful response. I know it’s part calculated, part clear-headed logic, but I also know there is a big part of compassion and understanding underneath all her words.
My mother nods and reaches over and puts her hand over Melissa’s.
“You are a very wise young lady. I think you are right.” She smiles and the air in the room changes. The atmosphere goes from that of a family auditioning a newcomer to that of a family relaxing and sharing a good meal. If I didn’t see how hungry she is, I would have made an excuse to leave dinner early to drag Melissa upstairs and make mad passionate love to her, give her a dozen orgasms until she can’t walk or stand. All I can think about now is how proud I am of her, about how she truly isthe one.
But lovemaking will have to wait until after another visit to the hospital. I don’t mind that I’ll be returning to the hospital with my sisters. We need to reacquaint ourselves now that they’ve grown up into versions of themselves I don’t know. When it’s time to go, I tell Melissa to stay and get her rest.
“I know you’re exhausted. It’s all my fault.” I remind her under my breath how she was prevented from napping earlier.
“That’s right. I better take my chance to sleep while you’re gone,” she teases me, but I see the anticipation in her eyes. Then she frowns and says, “But what about you, Lucas? You’ve been on the go for a very long time, as long as I have. You must be exhausted too.”
I can see she’s troubled, and she’s partly right, but I have adrenaline keeping me going. I whisper, “I have endless stamina. And don’t you forget it.”
With a final deep kiss, to remind her what she’s looking forward to, I leave with my two younger sisters who are not the children of my memory anymore.
* * *
The next day,after a long night of lovemaking, a few hours of sleep, and breakfast prepared by my mother, I take Melissa to see the factory. I have one of the staff show her around while I attend meetings at the office. When we get back to the house, we visit the private collection of classic cars of all kinds in our family garage. It’s noon, but no one’s back from the hospital for lunch yet when we walk back to the house, so we go up to my room. Melissa heads straight for the bed and lies down, fully clothed as if she’s ready for a nap. She pats the bed beside her and I sit, but I don’t dare lie with her.
“I need to go back to the hospital and then to the office again after lunch, but I’ll return for dinner. Tomorrow we can go to the Fierro racetrack.”
“You have your own racetrack?”
“Many of the motor companies of the Motor Valley have their own racetracks and museums too.”
“Motor Valley?”
I laugh. “Yes. It’s the region in Italy, around Bologna, where many Italian motor companies have been established and flourish. In fact, Motor Valley is a very popular international tourist attraction.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Apparently, I’m full of shit these days.”
She laughs, “Seriously. Your family’s business is actually a tourist attraction? That’s mind-blowing. I had no idea. I’ve always had a vague notion that Fierro sports cars were known as the best of the best in the business, but I . . .”
“What is it? Don’t worry yourself. It’s not a big deal. This tourist business—it’s nothing.” Waving my hand in automatic dismissal, I realize I’ve already slipped back into the world I left behind, the notoriety, the business, the sport, and all the traditions and trappings that go along with the Motor Valley pop culture in Italy. I also realize that I’ve done the wrong thing in assuming this world will feel as normal to a stranger here for the first time as it does for me, one who grew up in it. Me, an integral part of the Motor Valley culture and the culture an integral part of me and my family who helped create it.
“No. It’s not nothing. It’s everything,” she says. A frown grows in intensity, creasing her forehead as if she’s thinking.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say. “I take the Motor Valley and all its trappings for granted, having grown up here.”
“You’re an icon in your country,” she says. Her frown clears and she looks as if she’s seeing me as a different person, or at least through a new lens. “You and your family are like Henry Ford would have been in his day. Bigger, because you’re still so big, so famous, so—”
I could have let her go on, soaking up the admiration clear in her voice, in her eyes, drugging me to the point of addiction.
“So in love,” I say, stopping her. Now the look she gives me is deeper with wonder, but she thinks too much. It’s a major flaw I’ve discovered. Her expression turns to one of consternation, and her pride asserts itself.
“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be in love? I’m a catch,” she says. I can tell it’s part real pride talking and part bravado. I see in her eyes the unspoken addendum to her sentence:or I used to be a catch. Before she has a chance to dwell on all that she thinks she needs to prove, I take her chin in my hand and pull her close to me.
“You’re an angel, the perfect woman sent to me by divine providence—albeit in the guise of an Uber passenger.”
She laughs. “Fitting for a motor company giant.”
“Let’s go downstairs for lunch,” I say, “before you fall asleep.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve landed on the set ofDallas, only in Italy and I’m going to wake up?”
